


Resources, Status, and Enjoyable Interactions

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is utterly uninterested in marrying, even if he is a first son with a duty to his family to do so. He has no trouble turning suitors away at every turn--at least, until he receives an intricate mechanical bird and an offer that might just solve all his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resources, Status, and Enjoyable Interactions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedStockings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStockings/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy my take on this prompt! Thanks to [redacted] for the beta help and [also redacted] for spitballing this story with me a little.

An insistent knock sounded on the door to Charles' attic study, and he brazenly ignored it, leaning over his desk and poking again at the strange mechanical bird half deconstructed on his workbench.

The knocking didn't stop.

"I'm quite finished for the day, mother!" he shouted down the stairs. The knocking ceased for a moment, but only for a moment. The efforts redoubled after the brief pause. Charles began to think his mother must have brought up one of the help--knocking that much was surely more effort than she was willing to put into anything, even the arduous task of marrying off her first-born son.

He stood from his workbench and frowned down at his clothes. Covered with grease again, but he couldn't help it. That wasn't a good enough excuse for his mother, who was sure to give him a stern lecture about the state of him once she was done with the stern lecture on his reluctance to marry any of the demure daughters of London's upper crust. Still, it would have to do. He stomped down the stairs, just because his mother hated how ungentlemanly the sound was, and pulled open the door.

"Charles!" his mother said, her tone already frustrated and scandalized. "It was utterly rude to leave Mr. Shaw and Miss Frost in the drawing room!"

"I'm not marrying Miss Frost, mother," Charles said. "And, frankly, Mr. Shaw was far more interested in netting me than Miss Frost, and I'm not marrying him either." He shuddered. Miss Emma Frost was a sight better than most of his suitors so far--she was a telepath, like him, and she knew how to use her brain--but interested in him only for status and money. Mr. Sebastian Shaw, however, was simply odious and lecherous. He had no problem thinking the sort of thoughts that weren't for polite company right out in the open, plain as day for a telepath as powerful as Charles. There was more there, too, a desire for power that made Charles uneasy. It was all he could do to wait for a polite point to excuse himself to freshen up. He certainly wasn't going back in there.

"Now," his mother said, looking thoughtful, "Mr. Shaw is a bit older, but he is quite well-respected, and while marrying a first son off to a man isn't standard practice, he has enough power that it could still be seen as a good match."

"No!" Charles said, horrified. "I'm not marrying Mr. Shaw, I'm not marrying Miss Frost, I'm not marrying any of the suitors you've been parading through here! I am going to concentrate on my studies and then, perhaps, I will look for a suitor who pleases me!"

His mother glared at him. "You have a duty to uphold!" she said. "You are the last Xavier and your father, god rest his soul, would hate to see his line extinguished because you're too selfish to accept any of the lovely matches that have been arranged for you! This is your duty!"

"Bugger duty!" Charles said, and then immediately regretted swearing in front of his mother. Eighteen years old or not, it was dreadfully improper. It was so improper, it seemed, that his mother was left speechless.

"Well, I--you--I never!" she said. "Hmph!" She glared at him one last time. "Fix your clothes, you're a mess _again_!"

She turned on her heel and stomped away. 

Charles was still embarrassed, but filed away "surprise swearing" for future reference and possible use the next time his mother was pestering him. It would probably become less of a surprise the more often he did it, but still.

He closed the door and climbed back up the stairs to the attic. He didn't want to be selfish. He understood that he was born to privilege, that there were others who weren't as fortunate as he. He had the best tutors all his life, and had spent the past two years studying at university. He wanted to be a scientist. He wanted to figure out how the world around him worked. He _didn't_ want to marry at eighteen because his mother and stepfather wanted him out of the house to better pave the way for Cain's possible suitors. 

It wasn't that he had anything against the institution of marriage. His best friend, Moira, was engaged already and her match seemed as though it was going to be a good one. A brash, dark-skinned American man had courted her and they were set to be wed in the spring and by all accounts, he was above dictating her life and was happy for her to continue as she pleased. He had other friends, too, who had married and were living quite happily, but Charles couldn't picture himself settling down and playing the role of head of the household. He wanted to be studying or in a laboratory somewhere, not entertaining and doting on a wife and children. He wanted freedom to make decisions for himself without having to think about the wellbeing of people who relied on him.

Selfish, yes, but wouldn't forcing himself into marriage be more selfish? Wasn't avoiding something he knew he would be terrible at the higher road, here?

He wished his father was still alive. For many reasons, really. His father was never the most affectionate of men, more wrapped up in his business and his own scientific work than his family, but he thought his father would have understood him better at eighteen than he ever did as a baby. Charles' desire to devote his life to mechanics and the mystical science of the wondrous abilities of chimeras like himself would have won Brian Xavier over in a way that cooing and gurgling never did. His telepathy had caught his father's interest for a time, but even that waned eventually. Science, though--that was a language Brian could understand.

And, of course, if Brian were still alive, there would be no Kurt Marko, itching to get Charles out of the house as soon as possible now that he had come of age and was officially the head of household once again.

Charles sat down at his workbench again and sighed, picking up a small screwdriver to poke again at the mechanical bird. There had been no switch, nor any place to insert a key to wind it and it hadn't taken him long to begin to take it apart to see how it worked. The inner workings were the most sophisticated he had ever seen. The tiny gears and springs must have been slotted into place with the thinnest of tweezers and the utmost care. It was astounding. Charles was determined to figure out how it worked and where it came from. It had arrived by post in a plain brown box addressed to Charles. There had been no address or note with it, nothing to indicate who had sent it and why. He had thought of Henry, a friend he had made at university, but although he displayed an aptitude for it beyond even Charles' own, mechanics had never been a true interest of Henry's, not at this level. He answered only the siren song of biology, these days. Aside from Henry, Charles could think of no one who both knew of his love of tinkering and could create something so intricate.

It was a fascinating mystery to distract himself from the constant stream of young women and men seeking his hand. Mysterious, too, was the way some of the pieces seemed to meld right into the casing, as if they were all cast of the same mold. Impossible at this scale, but try as he might, Charles couldn't find a seam. 

He pulled his chair closer and picked up a magnifying glass to further inspect the insides of the bird. He'd only just started when the knocking returned.

He dropped his screwdriver in frustration and pushed back from the table again.

"Mother," he called out, stomping down the stairs again, "I am finished with this for today, I told you. No more suitors!"

He pulled open the door, ready to face his mother's wrath, but it wasn't his mother standing on the other side. It was a stranger. A strange man. A tall, lean strange man with piercing eyes and a wicked smirk.

Charles swallowed.

"How about one more?" the stranger said.

"I am _dreadfully_ sorry," Charles said. "I wasn't informed anyone had called for me, Mr--"

"Lehnsherr," the man said. "Erik Lehnsherr."

 _That_ caught Charles' attention. Erik Lehnsherr wasn't a name unknown to him. Erik Lehnsherr had risen to fame by inventing some sort of pistol with automatic firing capabilities when he was quite young. He made a whole line of weapons, the designs of which were bought by the government for a substantial amount of money. After rising to fame nearly overnight, Lehnsherr and his newly earned millions of dollars had disappeared. That was nearly five years ago. Rumor had it he was holed up somewhere, reclusive and silent. 

"When I arrived, the help informed me the lady of the house was indisposed and Mr. Marko was out for the evening. They seemed relieved by my offer to fetch you myself."

How _improper_. There was something delightful about it, though. Thrilling.

But, improper nonetheless. Charles was filthy and in no state to receive more guests.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles said. "I'm not receiving guests at the moment. If you could leave your card, I can call on you tomorrow." Charles realized, suddenly, how close they were standing. Lehnsherr was leaning into the doorway. With Charles on the stairway landing, one step up from Lehnsherr, they were of a height. On the ground, Lehnsherr would be quite taller than Charles. It wasn't a surprise--most people were--but it made Charles acutely aware of the fact that he wouldn't be looking into Lehnsherr's eyes if they were standing any other way.

"I'd just like a chance to speak with you," Lehnsherr said. "If that's all right, of course."

He was still leaning towards Charles and although Charles meant to turn him away in an offended huff and return to his work, he couldn't deny the appeal of the sudden reappearance of a reclusive inventor. It was quite exciting and just a little clandestine. It helped that he was rather easy to look at as well.

"Just give me a moment to change my waistcoat," Charles said, gesturing towards the grease stain. "I can meet you in the parlour in just a moment."

Lehnsherr peered over his shoulder and up the stairs, leaning even further into Charles' personal space.

"What's upstairs?" he asked. The man was incredibly impudent. Charles wondered if the years in isolation had blurred his memory of social graces or if he had always been this rude.

"My workshop," Charles said. "Now, if you'd please--"

"Perfect," Lehnsherr said. He pushed past Charles easily and started up the stairs. It took Charles a moment to get over his shock and shut the door, rushing up the stairs after him.

"Mr. Lehnsherr, this is highly unorthodox and impolite," he said. "This is my private workshop and--"

"Oh," Lehnsherr said softly. "You did get it. I had wondered."

He was looking at the little mechanical bird. It took Charles a moment to put the pieces together. During the pause, Lehnsherr moved to the workbench and sat down, fiddling with some of the pieces Charles had removed.

"You sent the bird?" Charles asked. Lehnsherr nodded without looking up. That certainly changed things a bit. "Did you make it yourself? It's beautiful. The level of mastery involved is unheard of. I've never seen anything like it."

Lehnsherr didn't look up, but he did allow himself a small, pleased smile.

"I did make it myself," he said. He lifted the small mechanical into his hands and closed them around it, then turned to face Charles. He opened his hands, and the bird--well, it _flew_. It flew across the room and landed in Charles' hastily cupped hands. The thin, delicate wings tickled his palms as they slowed to a stop. 

Charles was gaping and he knew it. Propriety be damned, he crossed the room quickly, still cradling the bird.

"How did you do that?" he asked. "I've been trying to get it to work since it came. There's no switch, no mechanism to start it. I looked all over."

"You're not wrong," Lehnsherr said. Charles stared at him, waiting for him to continue, so focused that he almost missed the screwdriver floating from the workbench and into Lehnsherr's hand.

"Oh my," Charles said. "Are you--is that telekinesis?"

"I can manipulate magnetic fields," Lehnsherr said. 

"That is...splendid," Charles murmured. "No wonder there were no seams. You could meld the metal joints together fluidly. Fantastic." Lehnsherr nodded. The bird was strangely warm in Charles' hands and he realized, suddenly, that he was back in Lehnsherr's personal space. "Why did you send it to me? Why are you here?"

Lehnsherr smiled. It was a wide smile with all his teeth and quite disconcerting.

"I'm here to make you an offer, Mr. Xavier," he said. "You've recently come of age, and I've heard that every eligible young lady in London is looking to win your hand. I've also heard that you're reluctant to settle."

"Yes, well, I have things to do and no time to be a good husband," Charles said. "I suppose you have a young ward you'd like to try and pair me off with in exchange for more of these lovely little mechanicals." How pedestrian. Charles had almost gotten his hopes up that this was about more than just another suitor.

"No," Lehnsherr said. "I have no ward. I would like to offer myself as a potential suitor."

"Yourself?" Charles said. He looked Lehnsherr over--he couldn't help it, but Lehnsherr caught the movement and gave Charles another of those smug little grins. It made Charles' blood boil. "It's quite unconventional for a first son to marry a man, Mr. Lehnsherr."

"But not unheard of," Lehnsherr said. Charles couldn't help but do the math. Lehnsherr was...twenty-three, he thought. Only five years older than Charles. Better than some of the suitors who had been slung at him, older and younger both. Better than Mr. Shaw, who was easily pushing fifty. "What I'm proposing is more than just a marriage, though, Mr. Xavier. Love and status has little to do with it, save maybe to pave the way. This is about resources."

"Resources," Charles repeated. Lehnsherr kept catching him off-guard. It was quite disconcerting.

"I've spent the last five years designing all types of mechanicals, experimenting with different purposes and different ways of powering them," Lehnsherr said, spinning the screwdriver absently in the air. "I've even created larger inventions to help put together the more intricate smaller ones. However, despite my wealth and time, I lack the connections to create on a larger scale and to put my creations on the market." He caught the screwdriver and used it to tap Charles' shoulder. "Xavier Limited has the connections and the marketing acumen to help me re-enter society as more than a weapons expert."

"And what do I get out of it?" Charles asked. This was normally the part where he excused himself and never came back, where he pushed the subject to something more innocuous before sending his suitors on their way.

Lehnsherr, however, was...mysterious? Intriguing? Vaguely romantic in a gothic sort of way.

"You can continue your studies," Lehnsherr said. "I don't care about social status, I don't care about having you on my arm for functions and gatherings. There would be no need for you to stay at the estate, mine or your own. You could return to school if you'd like, or build a laboratory and get lost in it. I would require no interaction you were unwilling to give." 

Charles was so entranced by Lehnsherr's gaze that he missed the screwdriver floating back to the table. He hadn't even realized Lehnsherr's hands had moved until they closed around his own, covering the mechanical bird in their combined grasp.

"If you were willing to give certain things, however, I can't say I would be uninterested."

Charles was right, earlier: he had to tip his head back slightly to see Lehnsherr's face at this distance. His hands were large and warm and they were standing close enough that Charles could feel Lehnsherr's body heat. His thumbs started to stroke the back of Charles' hands.

"I would never force you, of course," Lehnsherr murmured. "But if you're willing, I suspect we could have some quite enjoyable interactions."

Charles shook his head and laughed, but he didn't back away.

"Why, you're quite forward, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles said, though he didn't deny that his mind was already exploring the possibility of several different ‘interactions.' "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" he asked. His lips curled into a smile. "What the in the world was the impetus for all of this? Aside from resources, that is, which you could get from half the London upperclass if you went after one of their daughters."

"We have a mutual friend," Lehnsherr said. "Miss Moira MacTaggert. She passed on a few of your university papers that she thought may be of interest to me, being both a chimera and an inventor. I find your studies intriguing and the idea of a mind as bright of yours pushed into a mundane head of household role is unspeakable. I could use another mind in my business. I could also, she informs me, use the respectability that a good marriage brings in this town."

It made sense. It was as close to ideal as Charles was likely to get, actually. He'd be allowed to continue his studies and, from the sounds of it, to pursue all of his 'un-gentlemanly' interests, the ones that bothered his mother so. He would have a chance to see Lehnsherr's laboratory, to watch him work, to help out where needed. He wouldn't have to worry about the sort of dull social functions he tended to skip. He would have all the benefits of bachelorhood without losing the propriety marriage would bring.

And, well, as long as their temperaments matched, or at least complimented each other, he could see himself 'interacting' with Mr. Lehnsherr fairly regularly, if the man would have him.

He smiled slowly.

"Call again tomorrow," he said to Lehnsherr. "Properly, during the daytime. Best to put on a show for Mum and Kurt. You'll need a proper proposal and plan for courting, however. Mother and Kurt would never agree to this sort of trade-off."

"Noted," Lehnsherr said. "I expect that's a yes to my proposal, then?"

Charles poked Lehnsherr's chest. His chest was...quite well-muscled. Charles tried not to let that distract him.

"I expect to be properly wooed, Mr. Lehnsherr," he said.

"Do you now?" Lehnsherr said, raising his eyebrows.

"I promise our interactions will be well worth it," Charles said, which drew another of those slow smiles from Lehnsherr. They may have been a bit scary, but they were growing on Charles.

"Well, in that case," Lehnsherr said, "although I know it's customary for gentlemen to shake to seal an arrangement, perhaps you'll allow me a preview to close our deal."

Charles would have known what Lehnsherr meant regardless, but the hand curling around his shoulder, the other sliding against his cheek, made it unmistakable.

"How improper," Charles murmured, but he was smiling as he leaned in to kiss the man who, this time tomorrow, would officially become his fiance.

Maybe marriage wouldn't be terrible after all.


End file.
